


his eyes were baby blue

by Skiek



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation AU, i love me some good ol' reincarnation, shrugs a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6205231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skiek/pseuds/Skiek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in another life, maybe they'll work.<br/>EDIT: holy shit on a stick!!! 1k hits????? im so happy omg :) <3 thank you all so much!!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	his eyes were baby blue

in his first life, they meet in times of war.

  


peter's on the british side, crouched in the trenches as he tries to calm his breathing, hands shaking around the gun he's been told to shoot and point with. he has nothing left for him at home, at this rate, nothing to lose, but everything to gain. 

  


his general is an older, but not as mature, man named w. wilson, and he refuses to give his first name. peter thinks its weird, but then again, a lot of things are weird with general wilson. he takes three shots, always three, then crouches back down behind the trenches and grins at his troups.

  


they meet in the bunkers, brushing into each other. peters the only one that apologizes, and general wilson grunts, continuing on.

  


peter swears he sees general wilson stare at him out of the corner of his eye for a bit though.

  


they continue to brush against each other, and peter always apologizes. the general starts to stop a bit longer each time, and they start to make conversation.

  


peter's a small thing, with narrow wrists and pianist fingers, callused now from the guns and the dirt and the cleaning and the harsh life of a soldier. he has rosy cheeks from the frost, and narrow, small shoulders, along with the most gorgeous hazel eyes wade has ever seen. his hair is the color of bark, and he has the most beautiful laugh.

  


(not that wade has ever listened to it intently. no, that's forbidden.)

  


they meet up in the darkness after everyone's gone to sleep, pressing bodies against each others and moaning each other's names in the quiet, careful not to leave marks in fear of being caught. 

  


they both get killed at the same time, holding each other's hands in the moonlight, the mustard gas starting to bring them both to death.

  


and peter wishes he could say he didn't scream wade's name as they went down, didn't cough up blood and stare at trembling hands, before the faithful maiden of death pulled them both up and set them on their respectful paths of death.

-

in his second life, wade meets peter in a hospital. they don't talk a lot, roommates in the cancer ward.

  


wade has brain cancer, they've told him, and all they can do at this point is make him comfortable and try to help. the chemotherapy is shit, and wade loses his soft locks of dirty blonde hair to the illness, along with everything else in his life. he's accepting of it though. he doesn't have a lot to live for anyways, the depression and ptsd of a harsh childhood impacting him in the worst of ways.

  


peter, however, his roommate, is a younger man, with wits that almost outmatch his own in a verbal spar, with beautiful alabaster skin and green eyes, with black hair and the splatter of freckles across his face.

  


he's diagnosed with lung cancer, something that he's apparently been struggling with his whole life. he's fragile, doesn't get out of bed a lot due to the fact that he's lost so much weigth these days that no matter what he eats, he can't keep it down.

  


they talk in the quiet of the night, wade staring out at the sparkling lights of the city, wishing he was out there. peter whispers something about missing his family.

  


"what?" wade pesters, pushing at the barrier that's been seperating them mentally, sitting up in his bed and pulling back the curtains so they can see each other.

  


"i miss my family. they don't visit anymore, apparently it's too depressing."  peter states, a tinge of anger in his voice as he repeats himself, and wade hopes it's not directed at him. he hasn't seen the kid angry, and he doesn't want to start that off now.

  


"oh."

  


"that sucks."

  


peter nods, and looks over at wade.

  


he coughs, once, a bit of blood staining his hands. he groans, wipes it off on the towel nearby, and gets up after seeing the city view from their shared bedroom window. 

  


they don't do anything, but sit there and watch the city lights flicker and fade, hands kept to themselves. peter will occassionally cough into his shirt sleeve, making a wrinkled face and sticking out his tongue everytime. 

  


"how much longer you got?" wade asks after a long silence, his voice as quiet as a whisper, as if to preserve the sereness that comes with the quiet. he knows that he only has a couple weeks left, before the cancer spreads drastically and kills him.

  


peter shrugs, looks over at wade, and then looks at the floor.

  


"not that long. it's been terminal for a while, now."

  


wade looks over at peter, the twenty-something year old he is, and wade thinks about how the world's going to be a bit darker without peter.

  


"tell me about yourself, wade."

  


they make quiet conversation, small talk mostly, for the longest time, and they both can see the sunlight start to filter in through the windows, peter grinning like the dork he is as he watches the sun rise and greet them.

  


wade watches him, instead of the beautiful sight of the sun brightening the night sky, watching as the light illuminates the soft skin of peter's cheeks, freckles starting to appear like stars in the night, and wade realizes where the stars go when the moon has fallen.

  


peter looks back, tilts his head, and furrows his brows.

  


"what's up?" he asks, voice now raised, that tone in his voice that implies that he knows something going on.

  


wade presses his lips against peter's before the younger can recognize what's going on. they stay like that for a bit, peter's hands fisting in the bedsheets, wade's to his sides, before peter's tense shoulders relax and he pushes back into the kiss, hands softly landing on the hairless head wade's constantly disgusted by whenever he looks in a mirror.

  


wade shifts his focus on the bed, from where they were sitting next to each other so now they're closer together, slowly resting his hands on peter's waist as they deepen the kiss.

wips crash like waves, sounds of the sea softly flowing through the room in their heads.

  


peter pulls away from the kiss, opening his mouth again, but before he can say anything wade's mouth is open, words flying a mile a minute as he tries to explain himself.

  


"oh my god im so sorry i shouldnt have done anything youre just a fucking kid and im probably way older than you and you probably have a cute girlfriend and i just ruined a relationship! good fucking job wade! you're probably so disgusted with me now i haven't brushed my teeth all night fuc-" peter cuts him off with another kiss, pulling away all too soon (in wade's opinion).

  


"it's ok. if i didn't want it, you would know," he whispers, pressing his head against wade's, and wade can feel the soft feathery hair on peter's head brush against his own scalp, and it tickles in a weird way he hasn't experienced in far too long.

  


peter coughs again, and there's blood again, and he groans, getting up to go and wash his hands. but as he does so, he

  


f

a

l

l

s.

  


and wade's falling with him, shouting and trying to dive for peter,  not managing to catch him as peter starts to spasm and sob, eyes rolling back as he starts to cough, again and again and oh my god there's so much blood and wade isn't thinking when he shouts, when his voice rumbles through the room and when the nurses rush in and they take him, they take peter, they take the sunshine that had been illuminating the room for so long.

  


the next week, someone else is there, in peter's bed.

  


the day after that, someone else is in wade's.

-

in his third life, peter doesn't meet wade.

he lives with his aunt may, goes to school, gets a degree, and works as a bioengineer for the rest of his life. if he does meet wade, it's in passing, a bare press of shoulders against each other as they pass through their walks of life. 

  


peter is left with the feeling of emptyness when wade finally dies.

-

in their fourth life, wade starts to remember.

  


he remembers not a lot, but he remembers the feeling of soft hands comforting his face, the feeling of slightly-chapped lips crashing against his own, the sensation of hair brushing against bald skin.

  


he remembers eyes. in every life, they've changed, so wade can't remember what color they were, but in every universe they've been together through, wade remembers that beautiful laugh, he remembers the feeling of soft mumbling under him as they wrapped together in a hug.

  


he remembers the bad stuff too.

  


he remembers feeling blood through his fingers, watching light die from peter's eyes as he started to leave, remembers watching his love be dragged away from him.

  


he starts to cry, wade does that is, curling up on the couch and tugging fingers through short locks of brown hair, tugging until he can feel hair start to be pulled out. the quiet bursts of crying turn into sobs, loud and full and ugly as ever.

  


"wade?"

  


wade looks up, facing the woman sitting on the other side of the bed.

  


"nessa... go back to sleep. im going for a walk," wade replies, voice quiet but trembling as he starts to pull himself up, the mercenary pulling on a dark hoodie and shoes, leaving the ragged and stained sweatpants on, closing the door soundlessly.

  


vanessa grumbled a bit, missing the heat in her bed, but rolled back over towards where her lover had been sleeping, pulling the covers closer to her body and quickly falling back asleep.

  


wade listened to the soft sound of feet hitting the pavement, cars whizzing by as he followed the sidewalk, going wherever the wind took him.

  


there was the sound of a gun firing, and before wade knew it, a groaning in the alley next to him. wade tried to ignore it, stopping to fix his shoe, but before he knew it, the groaning had continued and was starting to get louder. wade let out a groan, and stood up, turning to face the alleyway.

  


"if you're dying, please hurry it the fuck up! i have a lot on my mind, jackass!" wade called, standing in the same place and refusing to move.

  


the voice, however, brought out the need to.

  


"sorry, i'll just. die quieter, as if getting shot in the shoulder didn't hurt that much," the stranger replied, and while sarcasm laced it, it was obvious they were in a lot of pain.

  


and the voice brought back so much more, memories of hospital beds and rushing nurses and the headaches that never ended, brought back the feeling of losing the one he loved not once, but twice, three times, and all of it being his own fault.

  


"yeah... you do that," wade replied, quieter and less angry now. he started to quiver, and carefully took a step forwards. soon, he was running, and checking the alley for any sign of the body.

  


he found what he was hoping he wouldn't discover. see, wade was happy with his life, this life, and he had been praying on lost time, hoping that he wouldn't be knocked aside and tossed around like a ragdoll in a game of catch, praying that he would be able to settle down and raise the family he so desperately wanted, to be able to live it out until he died of old age and be at peace with not only himself, but with the world itself.

  


so when he found those beautiful baby brown eyes that reminded him of a baby doe, and the hair that was brown with sandy gold streaks, wade felt like screaming, his world shattering, hands shaking, and he felt like he was about to vomit.

  


“can you help me out before you vomit, please?” the stranger, which wade now could identify as peter (at least, that’s what wade hoped his name was in this universe) asked, voice crackling as he tried to stand up, quickly falling back down as the pain sparked through his body.

  


wade was at a loss of words, a close first for the man, and soon he was slinging peter’s arm over his shoulder, picking the younger up in a bridal carry style. the younger was soon protesting, attempting to swing his arm, soon cringing at the pain that spiked in his bad shoulder.

  


“i’m trying to help, dumbass. if you haven’t called 911, then it means you’re in trouble that you don’t want the police to get into, so i’m going to take you home and patch you up.”

  


“what am i, a stray dog?”

  


“i mean…”

  


“shut up! i don’t even know your name! you don’t even know mine!”

  


wade wants to shout that yes, he does know peter’s name, because peter has known his more intimately than they probably ever will in this lifetime, because peter has known him for himself, not just some smartass that snapped back at everyone because of the pain, because peter has known him as a lover, not just a friend, and more importantly, not just as a stranger.

  


“wade. wade wilson.”

  


peter relaxes, mumbling in a voice almost non-existent, “peter. peter parker.”

  


wade simply nods, words failing to meet his mouth.

  


the rest of the journey to wade’s shitty apartment is spent quietly, and wade has never been more glad they had to get the shit apartment near the bottom of the complex, second floor, because even though it was louder and vanessa always complained about the neighbors and how they never let their dogs do anything but bark. holy shit.  _ vanessa. _

  


wade felt like dropping peter,  but he knew that would’ve been bad news, and instead fumbled a bit with his actions, causing peter to yelp in pain and clutch wade’s side better, the one that his hand had been resting upon.

  


wade nudged the door open, guess he didn’t close it all the way, and pushed it shut with his foot, laying peter on the torn couch, some sort of fabric that had gone out of style long ago, but still was usable and could function long enough.

  


peter let out a groan, shuffling himself and rolling over on the couch so that his bad shoulder wasn’t pressing into the couch.

  


“just… stay there. please?” wade begged, putting out a hand.

  


he went to the bathroom, got the first aid kit, and by the time he was back, peter was gone, a trail of blood leading out the window.

  


wade felt the life leave him a couple weeks later, realizing that was his one and only chance at being happy, truly happy, without that feeling of emptiness and paranoia that’d been haunting his and vanessa’s relationship. 

  


vanessa rubbed his shoulders, pat his back, kissed his forehead and tried to make everything alright, but by that time, wade was gone.

  


he just made sure to make it permanent. 

-

their fifth life is the one peter will always remember the most, when the memories start to filter into next lives through dreams and visions, through fantasies and through nightmares. 

  


it starts simple, with the meeting of not them, but aliases that everyone should know at this point. 

  


“deadpool,” peter grunts, arms covered in spandex crossed across his chest, and while the other can’t see it, there’s a look of discomfort splattered on his face.

  


“spidey!” deadpool chirps, turning from the cityside to face the younger, a grin stretched from ear to ear. peter can see it from behind the mask, but he can also see it failing every now and again, almost like he’s scared.

  


“what are you doing.” peter cringes internally at his tone, which is heavy and harsh, and it comes out less like a question and more like a statement. but it has to be done, and he pulls his hands into a fist. he knows what deadpool is doing, but it’s always polite to ask.

  


“getting a good view! gotta get ready for the shot, you know?” peter unfurls his hand, puts it over the sights, and gently pushes it to the side. he’s tempted to move his hand, but he keeps it there.

  


“what was that for?” deadpool asks, but doesn’t move his eyes from the sights, but peter notices the shaking of his hands.

  


“you don’t have to do this, you know. there’s better opportunities out there, ones that don’t involve killing people that don’t deserve it,” peter replies, but his voice is shaking a bit, hesitantly removing his hands from the sight and pulling them back to his side.

  


“yeah, but they’re not as fun!”

  


“is killing really fun, or are you just doing it because you don’t know what else to do?” peter doesn’t sound so sure in himself, but he’s dedicated to his cause, and it’s too late to back out now.

  


“does it really matter?” his voice is quiet, barely audible, but peter can pick it up.

  


deadpool moves back into place, waits a bit, sighs, then moves the sniper rifle to the side, taking the ammo out and switching the safety on. 

  


“you suck.”

  


peter grins a little, and pats deadpool’s shoulder, even if his hand is soon brushed off.

  


“come on, let’s go get something to eat. maybe i’ll let you patrol with me.” deadpool perks up at that, throwing the sniper onto the ground, putting a hand on peter’s shoulder, who brushes it off, much like the other did only moments ago.

  


deadpool jumps down from the roof, groaning as he lands on hard cement, and peter lets out a soft grumble before coming down from the building through the fire escape, the one deadpool so carefully avoided. he checks up on deadpool, whose legs are obviously broken, and laughs a little.

  


“you got a first aid kit in all those pockets of yours?” peter asks, grinning from behind the mask. he can feel his hair sticking to his head, and he knows by the time he gets the mask off he’ll need to take a shower. deadpool laughs a little, bitter as he reaches an arm out, probably to get peter to pull him up.

  


peter grabs deadpool’s hand, and before peter can start to pull him up, deadpool’s tugging him down, and soon peter’s face meets the concrete of the sidewalk. deadpool laughs, loud and throaty, and peter feels himself curl up a bit more, trying to laugh but only finding himself holding back tears as his pulls himself up from the concrete.

  


his face is bloody, nose broken, deadpool must’ve pulled him down hard. he pushes himself up, so he’s now in a sitting position, and deadpool is standing above him, looking down. peter can’t see deadpool, per say, but he can feel the stare on his head, and with a wipe across his mask, he feels the blood running through it. good thing he choose red, isn’t it. he can feel the soft pressure of a hand against his shoulder, hear a voice rushing through ears and asking if he’s alright, but all peter can sense right now is the blood dripping from his nose. it’s not like it’s the first time he’s broken something, and he knows it won’t be the last, but it’s the first time deadpool’s hurt him. for whatever reason, it seems like the merc refuses to hurt him, and it’s been pretty nice not having someone willing to kill him, even if it comes at the expense of millions of ass comments. (but peter can handle it, maybe even enjoys it, even if it’s excessive.)

  


“-eter, peter? you doing ok, bud?” deadpool asks, and is that… concern? wow, that’s a first.

  


“get your fucking hands off me.” wow, that’s a first for peter too. he tries to save his curse words, and he realizes he’s being harsh after he says the words, but he’s moving on his own when he looks back over his shoulder and stares at wade.

  


“why did you do that?” and deadpool tilts his head, and before he can answer, peters firing off another round of questions.

  


“why don’t you ever hurt me? you hurt everyone else, why not me? are you just saving me for something? do you have feelings for me? are you trying to threaten me? are you trying to scare me? ar-” and before peter can continue, deadpool’s looking down, shoulders slumped as he visibly shrinks.

  


“i’m sorry, i thought it’d be funny. everyone’s always laughing at me getting hurt, so i just…”

  


“leave me the fuck alone, deadpool. i don’t know why the fuck you’re so obsessed with me, but it’s creepy and i don’t like it.” what peter doesn’t bring up is the dreams he’s been having of them, the memories of arms wrapped around him, strong and persistent, the feeling of chapped lips pressing against his forehead. what peter doesn’t talk about is the hallucinations of wade he’s been having during his… private time, the hallucinations of wade pressed against them, the the need for someone to be there with him, even if it’s just a body there. peter doesn’t bring up the constant barrage of thoughts about ‘what if you just kissed him’ or ‘what if we loved him’ or ‘what if we didn’t’, shivering nightmares of wade dying before him, of curled up on the strange man’s couch, dying as he bled out from a bullet wound, nightmares of screaming out his name as wade crumbled before him, gas filling his lungs and causing him to be dragged through hell, but all he cares about is the older man holding his hand.

  


“wait, p-” but before deadpool can get out his next words, peter’s gone, web’s pulling him away, and he doesn’t even know at this point if he’s leaving because he wants deadpool to leave him alone, or if needs to leave deadpool alone. 

  


they don’t talk for another couple of weeks, and before he knows it, peter (who’s been avoiding patrol, at least around the areas he knows deadpool likes to hang out, and has mostly been doing classwork and ignoring his other responsibilities) gets a phone call.

  


“hello?” the number is unknown, probably some prank caller trying to ask if his fridge is running or some bullcrap like that.

  


“spidey, it’s deadpool. we have to t-” peter hangs up, throws his phone across the room, and goes back to sleep.

  


his phone rings seven mores times, as peter tries to sleep (try being the key word), before he picks it up an answers it.

  


“deadpool, what the hell do you want. the city better be burning down, or some poop, otherwise i’m going to find a way to kill you. permanently.”

  


“please. we have to talk.”

  


this leads to them meeting on the rooftop of some apartment complex three blocks over, peter silently swinging in the darkness of the night as he tries to maneuver the cityscape, before the flashing lights in a heart pattern signify where he’s supposed to go. at least, that’s what he hopes, because who else would do this but deadpool.

  


“spidey!” deadpool chirps, but anxiety and fear can be heard creeping into his voice, and peter groans a little, but lands on his feet, walking over to the other.

  


“what do you need?”

  


“you uh. might want to sit down…” deadpool sounds defeated, gesturing to a pair of lawn chairs that have been set up. they have blankets thrown over them, but the blankets are old and tattered, and peter hopes that they don’t have too many stains in them, but he ignores the offer in favor of standing, crossing his arms over his chest.

  


“no, let me hear what you have to say, and then i’ll be going again.”

  


“p-spidey…”

  


“i’m not moving.” he’s not even angry, he’s just been avoiding the fact that he’s been really missing the other for so long, and the fact that he has been having non-stop dreams about him, with a different picture of what he looks like under the mask every time.

  


“look, this is gonna sound really weird and it’s basically every thirteen year old girls wet daydream whenever they think of us, but every time i go to sleep, which is actually pretty rarely these days, i keep having really really REALLY weird dreams and crap? and sometimes you’re in them, alright, scratch that, most of the time you’re in them, but what i’m trying to say is that.” deadpool stops, looking down, almost shyly, which peter thinks must be a first for the other, because deadpool’s been all confidence and exuberance, and now he’s almost quiet, sullen.

  


“what are you trying to say?” peter pushes, crossing his arms over his chest.

  


“do you believe in fate?”

  


peter shrugs, and feels his hands grip the arm they’re crossing over, afraid of what’s coming next.

  


“not really. why?” peter replies, vocally, after a bit, just as quiet as deadpool had been before.

  


“i think, no, know that in other universes, in other time periods, we are…” deadpool trails off, voice growing in volume until it stops altogether, leaving peter begging for more mentally.

  


“we are what?”

  


“we are kinda a thing.”

  


peter feels like laughing, feels like taking it all and shoving it in a little box in his mind, treating it like it’s all just one big fucking joke, because that’s what his life has come to, but goddammit, deadpool is serious.

  


“alright, ‘fuck around with spider-man’ hour is done, i’m going home, please never contact me again.” peter’s making the move to leave, and before he gets very far, a hand is wrapped around his wrist. peter tries to rip his hand from deadpool’s wrist, but a very quiet plea has his staying.

  


“please, peter.”

  


it takes all of thirty seconds for peter to calm down, hands trembling as he gently pulls his wrist from deadpool’s grasp, sitting on the hard cement of the roof, legs splayed out in front of him.

  


“what the fuck is going on with my life.” peter doesn’t say it to anyone specifically, more towards the open air, more towards himself, but he continues on.

  


“i just wanted to be a nice person you know, use my powers for good instead of evil and all that good stuff. but then i run into  _ you _ , and now i’m missing class to go on dinner dates with a mercenary (which is a person that kills other, which is basically everything i go against), and i’m laughing about fart jokes again like it’s the third grade, and i’m having pathetic dreams about someone, constantly, and it’s messing me up! what the hell do you have to do with this, and why the hell do i feel so… relaxed around you? i haven’t been this relaxed around anyone since… yeah!”

  


deadpool took a seat next to him somewhere during peter’s rant, and now peter has pulled off his mask (something he doesn’t exactly still feel comfortable with, but hey, if the guy already knows his name (how the fuck does he know his name, anyways?) why not just show his face and get it over with), and is holding the thin fabric in his palms, stretching it slowly before letting it return to it’s natural state.

  


“in one world, we meet in war,” deadpool starts, voice quiet and trembling, hands in his cross-legged lap.

  


“and in another, we meet in a hospital. you die first in that one, and it kills me, because you die out in my arms.”

  


“in another, we don’t meet at all. i think i don’t like that one the most. or maybe i like it the most. still debating that, i’ll get back to you on that one.”

  


“there’s so many others, peter, but this one, the one we’re living right now, is the one that means the most to me.”

  


peter looks over, curious, and deadpool slowly pulls his mask off, and peter wants to assure him that it’s alright, he doesn’t have to make himself uncomfortable just for peter.

  


but as the mask comes off, in those eyes, peter sees millions of lifetimes, millions of possibilities, millions of futures of him, of deadpool (no, wade), and in those eyes, peter feels himself disconnect.

  


he feels like he’s floating, for a moment, in metaphorical space as millions of billion of infinite possibilities of them come rushing to him, and in those eyes, peter finds himself.

  


before he can find his words, peter’s crashing his lips against wade’s.

\--

“you ready for another round, babe?”

  


peter grins at wade, euphoric bliss settling in his chest as he looks over at his lover, his future, his past, his everything. the words are spoken from cracked lips, resembling those of the most recent lifetime’s wade, but his eyes are filled with constellations and life and death, but they’re still that baby blue that peter can’t find himself looking away from.

  


“as ever, old man,” peter retorts, but the words are soft spoken, and he grasps wade’s larger hand in his own, feeling the cracks of skin under his own, but he knows it won’t last for long.

  


“hey! there’s been some worlds where i’m younger than you, don’t forget!” wade remarks, offended looking, and peter just laughs.

  


pressing his lips against wade’s, he whispers a quiet,”i love you.”

  


“and i’ll love you through every universe, miss you through all, and i’ll see you again as soon as i can.”

  


wade just grins.

  


together, they race into the unknown, one more time.


End file.
